


Boundaries

by Fluffyllama (Llama)



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Incest, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 08:06:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/305703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama/pseuds/Fluffyllama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie wasn’t sure exactly when it had happened, but at some point between him waking up on Saturday morning in Don’s bed and returning from the library that same evening, Don’s bedroom door had acquired a lock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boundaries

**Author's Note:**

> All fics for this challenge are set in the same universe unless otherwise stated, but should each stand alone just as well.

Charlie wasn’t sure exactly when it had happened, but at some point between him waking up on Saturday morning in Don’s bed and returning from the library that same evening, Don’s bedroom door had acquired a lock.

A lock that meant Don was currently on one side of the door, doing god only knew what without the help of his brother, and Charlie was stuck on the other, wondering what he’d done wrong.

“Your brother just needs a bit of privacy,” Dad said, when he traipsed back downstairs with his books in his arms, still not shown to Don. “That’s teenagers for you.” He eyed Charlie as if to say “You next.”

Even an appeal to Mom did nothing. “Don bought the lock and fixed it up himself,” she said, as if that somehow made it better. “And you know, you only have to knock on the door.”

“Yeah,” Charlie said, and made his way back upstairs to his own room. “I know.”

He didn’t knock, though.

Don didn’t mention the lock, and Charlie didn’t know if he kept his room locked all the time, because every time he approached it during the day it seemed a million reasons for why Don might want to keep him out rose up to stop him. All the times he’d poked around in Don’s stuff and ignored Don when he got mad seemed stupid and childish now. Then there were the times he’d sat and read Don’s comics and wondered why Don snatched them back when he caught him; it seemed obvious now that Don hadn’t wanted him there.

On the other hand, there were the times he’d simply curled up on the bed with a book, more content in that space that didn’t belong to him than his own room, even if he couldn’t explain why. Sometimes he’d find himself shaken awake and kicked out, but more often he’d woken up to Don’s smile and a hand on his hair, his face all squashed into the pillows. Those days Don would just lie there next to him and laugh while Charlie told him all the stuff the books had wrong, and if it was late, and not a school night, Charlie wouldn’t have to go back to his own bed.

He missed that, he really did. But he still wasn’t going to knock.

Charlie lasted three nights before he crept down the hallway to stare at the locked door. _Probably_ locked door. He crouched right there in the end, leaning against the wall and wondering if the even breathing was Don fast asleep, or whether he was lying awake too. When his eyelids started to droop he gave the door handle one last longing look and tiptoed back to his own bed.

In the morning he yawned at breakfast and only Don noticed.

“You shouldn’t read so late,” he said, and smiled as if he knew Charlie as well as Charlie knew Don. Charlie just shrugged, because what else could he say?

It became a habit though, and after a few more nights of the same routine there were three concerned faces over the breakfast table.

“I’m fine, just had trouble sleeping,” Charlie said, concentrating on his cereal. He ignored the discussion of whether he should see a doctor, only looking up when Don leaned over to whisper “Let’s go” in his ear.

They were almost at school when Don stopped him with a hand on his arm and said awkwardly, “Listen Charlie, if you’re having bad dreams or something…” He stopped, and seemed to be trying to find the right words.

“I’m fine,” Charlie said when that seemed to be all, and he left Don standing there. He could feel Don’s eyes on his back all the way up to the gates.

Charlie thought all day about what the rest of that sentence might have been.

Through calculus with the advanced class, he came up with variations on ‘tell Mom and Dad’, ‘talk to me about it’ and ’see that doctor they keep suggesting’. Through History and Geography he wondered if it could have been ‘don’t sit outside my room all night’, or ‘don’t be such a big baby’, but he was pretty sure that was just paranoia and lack of sleep affecting his brain.

Walking home, with Don next to him giving him curious glances every few seconds, he decided there was only one way to find out.

Of course, everyone seemed to be determined to stay up as long as possible that night. Mom and Dad had people round, and the tinkle of laughter rose up from the dining room until well after midnight while Charlie fidgeted in his bed.

When the house was silent at last, he waited as long as he could before slipping out of his room. Don’s bedroom door seemed as huge a barrier as ever, with the lock glinting at him in the moonlight, but maybe it wasn’t. He reached out his hand, and the handle was cool against his palm, smooth where his fingers wrapped around it, and as unfamiliar as if he hadn’t opened this door a thousand or more times before without a second thought.

He pressed down, slow and cautious, not pushing at all yet, because he had to do this carefully. It seemed as if he could hear every movement of the handle as a deafening squeak, loud enough to wake the whole household, but it was nothing compared to the sound of his own breathing, or his heart knocking out a rhythm that made his hands tremble and his head spin.

The handle depressed fully, Charlie took a deep breath before pushing at the door – and in the silence heard the unmistakable creak of the floorboard by Don’s bed. He let go of the handle and fled.

There was no way Don was going to believe he’d been in bed all night, not if he heard him breathing. Just those few steps down the hall, not enough to get out of breath, but Charlie couldn’t catch his breath evenly, could feel it gasping out of him with every frantic skitter of his heart.

“Charlie?”

 _I’m asleep_ , he thought desperately, but he couldn’t stop the flinch at the hand on his shoulder, and Don wasn’t easy to fool in any case.

“It’s all right, having bad dreams sometimes,” Don whispered. “I used to as well.”

It was so tempting, especially when Don crawled under the covers with him, and he could feel that solid warmth against him. So tempting to say yes, it was a bad dream, hold me Don. Charlie could have a lot of bad dreams with the right incentive.

It was much harder to tell the truth, even with Don next to him in the dark, not looking at him.

“It wasn’t a dream,” he said in the end, and waited for Don to pull away, but he didn’t. “I just missed you.”

He felt Don’s arms slide around him as they had to when they curled up in the narrow beds, and sighed into the heat, the reassuring huff of Don’s breath against the back of his neck.

“I missed you too, buddy,” Don murmured, and Charlie slept.


End file.
